Few of the brothers visit him - the sisters, even less. Still, there are some who believe in sympathy and compassion. Karthus does not understand the apprehension to approach one who has embraced death as they have, but perhaps it is in the silence between sermon and burial that makes people uncertain around him.
Sister Anika takes a seat next to him on the stone bench in the garden. She wears a black down, a belt wrapped around her waist. It is similar to his own.
“Of course,” he responds, curling his fingers around the spine of the book in his lap. “I am merely in thought. You do not need to offer your company.”
“I want to,” she says, crossing her ankles and resting the tips of her toes under the bench. “There’s little to do today. Madame Helena is ill; we cannot do our afternoon song.”
“I wish her good health.”
The hunger for death lies for him.
“It is why I hope you are in similar health.” Sister Anika smiles. “What are you reading?”
“It is a tome, but I do not have interest in the magic.” He returns to the page - an ink sketch of ocean and land greets the dark sky of Noxus. “This is one of the few images I have discovered of the Shadow Isles. I am memorizing it.”
Sister Anika’s smile fades, as does the polite light to her eye. “You know you should stop seeking such a place. It is not only unholy, but it is dangerous. Bilgewater’s seas are rumored to be cursed.”
“Is the magic of the Isles not that which curses the ocean?”
“I’m not denying their existence - I could not say for sure if they exist or not. But there must be something cursing the water, right?” The hand she places on his shoulder feels customary, and lacks true kindness. Karthus finds he doesn’t think much of that at all. “Please don’t get any idea to go out there, Karthus. You would certainly perish.”
She turns the page for him. Karthus does not think she understands his intentions. Nonetheless; he shares the book with her, and his gaze wanders to a stone in the dirt, thinking of a tombstone’s piece.
